The Betrayed (2 page)

“Thus came the Second Age of Mankind. It is the age we live in now. And Damian became known as the Father of Evil.”

Rob was silent for a moment. “It’s a sad story, Grandpa. Damian was…was a bad god, but he was only a sad man with a broken heart. He lost his love.”

Lord Erik smiled. Children could be so insightful. Regardless, without Damian, the world would have been such a boring place.

He closed the book.

CHAPTER 1

C
ommander Mali winced as she methodically worked the string wrapped around her fingers. She had noticed a few brown hairs above her upper lip the night before and was now removing the culprits while a ruddy irritation bloomed in their place. Most female soldiers did not pay much attention to their looks, but Mali did not share their sentiment. She believed herself to be good-looking and intended to stay that way, despite her battle scars and the harsh sun, or even more so because of them. Men appreciated good looks. More than bad looks, at least.

She looked away from her reflection in a small wall mirror, toward the slumbering shape of Captain Ralf, her last night’s companion. He slept peacefully, exhausted, tangled in sweat-soaked linen, one leg dangling off the bed, a spectacular backside just peeking beneath the cover, taunting her. She smiled.

As a woman, she ought to be settled, a mother by now. As a warrior, she was free of the scruples of womanhood and could enjoy life just like men did. She had always been a bit of a tomboy, and a military career suited her like a glove. While most women came to the army ranks with hatred in their hearts, she came as a free, if rebellious spirit.

She left the room quietly and headed for the kitchen. The guard outside her chambers curtly nodded at her. She winked back.

It was quite early. Very few people were about. The corridors were empty and silent. Entering the kitchen, she scooped a few cakes from a platter, grabbed a pear from a basket, and sat in a corner to eat by herself.

“Morn’,” Colonel George greeted her, seating himself on the bench opposite her.

She mumbled a reply, concentrating on her meal. She did not like being disturbed, especially when she ate. But she wanted to hear what George had to report. He was back from a reconnaissance mission at the border. There was grime on his face and neck, road dust mingled with sweat.

Mali poured herself some ale from a pitcher. “Any news?”

The colonel removed his gloves and beat them against the corner of the table. Mali scowled at him. “Sorry,” he whispered. He sighed. “Well, yes. I’ve seen a Caytorean five leaving its barracks in Copper Astar and heading south.”

The commander leaned back, surprised. “Five thousand men? South? Why would they go there? It’s nothing but leagues of Caytor grassland.”

George shrugged. “I’m not sure they intend to stay in Caytor.”

Mali looked skeptical. “The Safe Territories? Why?”

“Why would a pigeon shit on someone’s epaulets?” George retorted. “I didn’t ride up to them to ask.”

“Still, sounds like something worth keeping an eye on.”

“Could be they were sent to deal with bandits.” George helped himself to a mug of ale.

“They would not send a whole regiment after a few thieves.” Sorties into neighboring realms were not unheard of. Sometimes parties simply strayed. Sometimes they crossed the borders in pursuit of criminals. It happened quite often. Most realms had no real borders, just invisible lines running through grass or forest.

George nodded. “True. My scouts are watching them. They seem undecided, though. They took their time getting ready to leave. More than a week. Then, they marched south for a whole day. And then, they backtracked almost all the way back to their garrison before heading back south again. Could be exercises.”

“Or a well-thought-out plan to throw any spies off guard. Do you have any idea who’s leading the five?”

George shook his head. “Nope. I did not want to risk it.”

Eracia and Caytor were not exactly on friendly terms. When one side caught another’s spy, they made sure it became a public scandal. The perpetrator would usually be marched into city squares, beaten, and humiliated, only to be ransomed for one of their own men held captive by the other side. After many generations of bloody war, the two realms had resorted to diplomacy, which meant cowardly wars without soldiers. But there was always a risk of bloodshed.

“Fine,” Mali said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Any army movement on the other side of the border always caused a stir. Even if the maneuvers were purely for show, local forces would be alerted. One could never know when the other side would strike, like in the previous eighty wars the two nations had fought.

Mali wiped her hands on her robe and stood up, without waiting for George to finish his ale. He rose clumsily and followed her out of the kitchen. “What do you wanna do?” he asked.

She stopped walking, thinking. “Tell your scouts to stay close, but to avoid any combat. I don’t want any incidents. But the moment they cross into the Territories—if they cross—I want the regiments at Baran and Spoith ready to march.”

George cracked a knuckle. “As you order. Do we…do we follow them into the Territories?”

Mali rolled her eyes. “If they cross, yes. I want to know what’s so interesting that an entire five needs to look for it.”

“Do you think they’ll cross?” The colonel pleaded for answers.

She smiled. “I have never heard of a five moving from one garrison to another just for sport.” The nearest Caytorean encampment to Astar capable of supporting a five was more than twenty leagues away. In her entire career as a soldier, she had never known the Caytoreans to march for fun. They did it only when it was needed. A sad yet fortunately predictable fact.

“They could be moving their troops about.”

Mali shook her head. “I’m guessing it’s war season again. Well, we didn’t have one last year. I was really getting worried the Caytoreans had gone lily-hearted on us. Get the boys ready. Have them dust off their groin caps. They might be needing them soon.”

“As you command, Commander.”

Mali looked him up and down. “You staying here tonight?”

George smacked his lips. “I’m too tired to ride back. I’ll send some men and go back tomorrow.”

The commander looked pleased. “Good. Then I can see you later today?”

“Good,” George answered.

“Good,” Mali said and walked away.

Dawn. In two hours, it would be over. They would hang him. A jealous man, having caught his wife in adultery, had killed her and framed Adam. Well-bribed constables had apprehended him, beaten him thoroughly, and dumped him in a cell. Then, a well-paid judge had decreed that he should die with a soaped noose around his neck two hours after dawn the next day.

Adam had said nothing during the sentencing. It would have been pointless. His word against the husband’s. Even in the best of circumstances, no one would believe him. No one believed whores.

Paroth was not a very kind place to prostitutes. While in most large cities there were guilds that protected the interests of their workers, as well as their patrons, prostitutes in Paroth had to rely on pimps or fend for themselves.

Most male whores worked alone. Unlike women, men in this profession did not bond easily. Mistrust and rivalry ran deep. They were also much less likely to be abused. But at the moment, Adam could almost wish he had a pimp. The thought of having someone at your side at the hour of your demise was comforting. He had no friends or family.

His kin had ostracized him after having learned the truth about his line of work. He was as good as dead to them. As a whore, he was not likely to have any friends, either. What could a male prostitute possibly have in common with a simple, everyday man?

The three drunkards in his cell slumbered happily, oblivious of their fate or surroundings. In a way, the small, dank cell was a definite boon in their useless lives. They did not have to worry about anyone slitting their throats while they wallowed in the gutters, the hay was dry, and they might even get a chance to eat breakfast.

Adam did not think they would feed him. Most jailers preferred if their customers did not throw up on the planks of the gibbets. It kind of spoiled the moment.

Last night, before going to sleep, one of his cell mates had taken the liberty of trying to flirt with him. A well-aimed kick in the groin had forestalled any further advances. Soon thereafter, the three had gone to sleep in a pile of lice and fleas. Adam had stayed up the whole night, unable to sleep, leaning against the hard stone and thinking. Mostly about the pointlessness of life.

The clank of a rusted bar sliding in its groove shook him from his reverie. A door opened. A shuffle of steps transformed into a group of army officers and several constabulary guards. Adam remained seated.

The officers were murmuring softly. Hay and dampness muffled the sound. Adam could not hear what they were saying.

“You,” one of them called.

Adam merely lifted his eyes, acknowledging the man. He said nothing.

“What’s he in ‘ere for?” the man asked one of the prison guards.

“Murder. Killed a woman with a hatchet.”

“Oh, a feisty one, ain’t he? Hey, you!”

This time, Adam decided to respond. He could tell the officer was quite irritated. And Adam had very good instincts. As a whore, people skills were some of his primary tools.

“Yes?”

“Would you like not to hang today?”

Adam blinked. “Definitely. Sounds like an interesting prospect.”

They exchanged glances. The fact he had used the word “prospect” seemed to have impressed them.

“You got any skills with weapons?” The man smiled. “Other than the hatchet.” A few other men guffawed.

“I’m not bad with a knife,” Adam replied.

“Can you read?” the man asked.

“No.”

The officers resumed their murmuring. Adam sat and waited. He made the mistake of leaning forward. Cold pain lanced up his sore ribs, courtesy of the Paroth constabulary.

“Well, here’s your choice, lad. There’s a war brewing. We need extra men for our troops. If you have a care for your miserable life, then take it. You’ll be enrolled as a monarch’s man in one of the regiments, and you’ll fight for the crown. If you live through it, you’ll be honorably discharged and your crimes pardoned.”

Adam did not even have to contemplate. A man could only die once. “Sounds good to me.”

The officer nodded at one of the jailers. “One less for the gibbets today.”

The army camp was just like any other, a big and filthy mess of sweaty men with no apparent purpose in life.

Adam shared a small stretch of mud and feces at the end of the encampment with another three hundred or so former convicts. Like him, most had been rounded up before they could hang and given the choice of bleeding for the monarch rather than bleeding for past sins. Most looked like semi-rabid animals kept at bay only by the fear of being slaughtered by the soldiers guarding them.

For the past three days, Adam had kept to himself. He was careful to avoid eye contact with the monsters surrounding him. He did not speak at all with anyone and ate alone. For protection, he had fashioned himself a crude spike from a willow branch, using a stone to whittle one end. Blessedly, no one had challenged his solitude.